We Were Meant to Be
by Sugar Bun-buns
Summary: A heartwarming romance. Harry Potter has finally found his one true love in the form of a 40 something year old man dying from an unknown disease.
1. Chapter 1

_**Here is an excerpt of my new SNARRY fanfic called**_ : "Were Meant to Be". **_Please read and review! It's a heartwarming AU dedicated to the holidays and will take place in the modern times._**

The nurse paused outside the door, her hand still grasping the door knob.

"Before we enter, Mr. Potter" she spoke softly as she peered at him in contempt. "I should warn you- if others have not already- that Mr. Snape is not a man to be reackoned with. He is quite solemn tempered but is easily angered as well. It would be wise to tread softly while in his presence. Is that understood?"

Harry slowly nodded his head. "I understand." He said.

The nurse stared at him a moment longer, prehaps to ascertain or gauge the amount of damage the boy would be able to withstand before he, too, ran off. As did so many interns before him.

And as if in agreement with something in her mind, Nurse Wendy pushed open the door to patient #68.

Severus had complained and ranted so much until a pudgy looking intern, that went by the surname: Longbottom, had finally plead "Release" and begged to be transfered to a new ward on the east wing of Hogwarts Hospice.

Minerva had pursed her lips at him, sending one of her lethal glares, which in his teenage years would have made him feel ridiculously guilty and make him want to turn into a pile of transparent liquid. But now, he equally met her glare with a scathying scowl.

"Really, Minerva" He drawled. "I don't know how on Earth you manage to find these incompetent fools. The only thing they seem to know is bollocks on absurd idiocities. And they call themselves people of science. Bah!" He scoffed at the idea. Though thinking about the fundamental baring that every medical student needed to be fullfilled.

He continued. "That last one, Longbottom, the fool, couldn't even prescribe me the right drug to take with my evening tea yesterday, did you know?"

 _ **What do you think?**_

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 _ **Review!^^**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Please read and review! ^_^**_

DECEMBER 31st 1986

"Due to torrid weather from Manchester, it is mandatory for all residents in Godrics' Hollow and all surrounding areas to abstain from venturing out. Reports from Diagon alley are said to be carrying strong winds from the north ranging from anywhere from 13mph to 30mph in magnitude. Our meteorologist, Mr. John Longbottom has this to say-!"

Mr. Potter turned off the television and smiled down at his son. "You alright there, har-bear? You look a bit grey 'round the edges, kiddo." He said, ruffling the child's dark hair.

Little Harry groaned at the gesture. "Daaad! I'm not a little kid any more," he pouted. "I'm a big boy remember?" as an afterthought he muttered, "and I'm not grey..."

Mr. Potter chuckled at his antics. "Right, of course. How could I forget, my son's six years old now. How time flies fast, it seemed like just the other day that I was changing your diapers."

Harry blushed and proceeded to sulk even more.

His Uncle Sirius and Uncle Remus were stuck in London due to the heavy amount of snow in their area. From what he could gather, even if the snow hadn't been in the way, they still wouldn't have been able to make it. His Aunt Tonks, Remus's wife, was going into labour and had to be rushed to the hospital instantaneously so either way...

Lily Potter pushed open the door to the kitchen that also acted as a barrier between the living room and dining area.

She had a tray filled with fresh biscuits in her hands. "James, did you buy the mint extract I asked you to get?" She said.

Mr. Potter grinned sheeply. "Erm, what extract?"

She deadpanned with a flat look. "James..."

"Don't worry, Lily, I'll go and get it. Besides," He shrugged. "I hear there's a reindeer riding going on in Diagon alley today and you know Harry's never been. We should all go before it gets too dark and they close."

Harry pursed his small petal lips, confused. "I thought Santa had to use his reindeers to fly? Why are they here then?" He asked.

Mr. Potter blushed as he thought of a way to retrify his son's mild befuddlement. "Oh, well you see...Santa has, uh, certain duties that must be done and, um, the reindeers need nutrients, isn't that right, Love?" He looked to his wife for help.

"That is why you must always eat your vegetables, Harry, dear. If the reindeers do it, why can't you?" Lily piqued.

Harry scrunched his face in disgust. "Leaves are for animals, Mum." He stated as a matter of fact. "I wanna ride the reindeers!"

Lily sighed. "Fine. I'll go call the Longbottoms, see if they'll bring their son, Neville along. Prehaps we'll even meet Dean and his parents as well."

So it was settled.

A few minutes later, the Potter family were merrily driving along the snow covered path towards the town's customary shopping plaza. The pretty lights circled around various houses reflected off the backseat windows, making Harry stare wistfully at the display.

Christmas was his favorite type of holiday. He couldn't really tell you why nor how it came to be his most loved out of every other momentous day. It was something wonderful all on its own...beautiful how people seemed to cheer up...stunning...joyous...almost...magical...

Suddenly, Little Harry was jeered out of his musings with a terrible screech.

"JAMES, LOOK OUT!" screamed Lily Potter at her husband.

But it was too late. Harry couldn't see what had made his mum yell, but a second later the most horrible sound graced his ears and the last he heard was a woman crying.

"Oh, God. Please...don't take my son...please..."

And the world burned red.

The funeral that took place in The Deathly Hollows graveyard was one starring a young boy and the faces he wouldn't look up to meet.

Albus Dumbledore, an old family friend, had come to say the prayers that allowed the final burying of Mr. and Mrs. Potter.

There was not much fight in who should have custody of the boy. The first choice had been Remus and his wife, considering those had been his godparents, but the lawyers choose to leave the right to his closest relative: Sirius Black.

It was one somewhat chilly evening on the 13th of May 1991, Harry remembered the exact day it was because he frequently recalled this memory in his head so much that the color in which filled it enamoured his thoughts.

He was eleven years old, still young and yet so mentally old. He layed on his knees, silently talking to his loved ones. Harry had made it a habit to visit his parents every so often, detailing events in his life, the people he had befriended, what he did a certain day, the new girlfriends Uncle Sirius dated on and off and so on.

It was at times like this, that Harry often contemplated death and meeting his parents back in Heaven or wherever they were, but always, every time, thought about the friends and family he would be leaving behind. It was a cruel thing to consider and an even crueler thing to wish to do as he was sure his parents would never want him to take his life. For anyone no matter what.

A shadow crept overhead, frightening him. He shot up and snapped his head back to chance a look at the intruder. As far as he knew, no one ever visited his parent's grave.

The man was tall and wore a dark trench coat which obscured the rest of his clothes from view. Though, from the angle in which could see, he noticed the man had black colored hair and very pale looking skin.

The man crouched down, peeled his gloves off one by one, and touched the spot with Lily Potter's name on top of it. Ever so lightly, he grazed his fingertips over the indents.

No words were uttered yet Harry couldn't help but feel as if a whole triad of sentiments was passed along.

They both stood quiet. A strange type of peace between the two.

When the man stood up to leave, Harry caught him by the sleeve of his coat, completely by reflex. He jerked his hand back and blushed in embarassment.

"Sorry." He mumbled.

The man stood their for a moment, waiting.

"Oh, um, you forgot your gloves. Here." He reached down and picked the black warmers.

On its way to the man, Harry accidentally dropped it in the snow.

They both bent down to retrieve the fallen glove and bumped heads lightly. Startled, he glanced to gauge the man's reaction but became paralyzed.

The man looked to be in his late twenties, prehaps younger. His nose was hawk-like yet romanesque if one were to give it a distinct ethicity. His jawline was smooth, hairless. His skin looked pasty pale, nearly swallow in complexion that Harry faintly thought the man might have been sick with the flu.

All in all there was nothing remotely remarkable about the man and to most he could barely pass as attractive or even plain.

Though what had Harry stilled was the man's eyes. They bored such a shade that contrasted greatly with his pale skin that it faintly reminded the boy of a canvas in an art show his friend, Hermione Granger, had once dragged him to see. There was pain and hurt in those bottomless eyes that it literally felt as if Harry himself could feel the mans misery seeping through. What had been his connection to his parents? His mother?

But behind those painsakenly obsidian eyes, a flicker of emotion burned. Hidden. Forced out by what, only Harry, could wonder.

As Harry was about to utter another apology to the man, he quieted.

The man raised his hand slowly, his fingertips just a hair breath away from his cheeks. He was mesmerized by the older being. There was something magnetic about said stranger, something he wanted to find out. Harry held his breath and couldn't help leaning towards the sliver of warmth that emitted itself from his hands.

He was so close...so very, very close...

And just as contact was about to be made-

"Harry!"

Both males jerked away from each other, momentarily startled. The younger of the two turned his head back to look.

"Harry!" Shouted Uncle Sirius a few yards away. "Pup, you out there? The storm's about to pick up, kiddo. Let's get going!"

"Y-Yeah! I'll be right there, just give me a second, kay?!" He yelled back.

He turned around to the stranger but was surprised to see the man gone. The wind was blowing dustfuls of snow everywhere and he could barely make out a thing save for the gravestone beside him. His glasses were fogged.

As Harry struggled to pick himself up from the ice cold ground, a dark object fell down from his lap. The fallen glove.

That night as he tried to fall asleep, Harry felt silly for holding on to the apparel. He didn't know why he'd held on to it. Or why he felt his cheeks burn when he pulled the garment to his nose and sniff the strange odour of spices and chemicals.

Or why he felt light headed at the brief flashes of dark eyes that swam through his mind at odd intervals. Or even why he wanted to meet the man again...

Whatever the reason, Harry thought idly before sleep finally took him, I'll never meet the man again.

What were the chances?


End file.
